Like A Moth To Flames
by EclipseMirror
Summary: Pyro only loved fire due to his hallucination of being in a happy wonderland, where he himself is a spreader of happiness. But one day, he is revealed to the truth. No romantic pairings whatsoever. Rated T for (possible) violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, people, and thanks for checking this out. Having a few things I'm working on already, plus having a bit of author's block plaguing me, I doubt that I'll actually be able to finish this... but oh well, I'll give it a try.**

**Underlined words, other than chapter names, are muffled.**

**'He' and related pronouns relate to Pyro only.**

* * *

On Fireworks and Rainbows

The crayon scrabbled with the elegance of a bumbling moth over the half-crumbled page, leaving behind a crooked arc of red.  
He paused, cocking his head to one side, before grabbing up a different crayon and dragging out an equally crooked line of orange underneath.  
Yellow and green soon followed, but, finding no stick of blue, he reluctantly skipped it over and bashed out a trail of purple, then stepped back to admire his own work.

The rainbow was done. Aching with the absence of blue, but done.  
He proceeded to sign it before taping it on his wall, where a quilt of equally childish drawings resided.

_Pyro_

It was a nickname of sorts, really. He never really understood what the word really meant, but as his old name was lost among the labyrinth of chaotic rooms in his brain –and would probably bring back unwanted memories- he accepted.

The nickname brought out a comforting, familial vibe when said amongst his friends, even though he had seen some of them cringe at the mention. He didn't really mind. After all, he was the less bizarre out of all of them.

There was a gentle rapping at the chocolate door, followed by a familiar innocent voice of a child.  
"Pyro? Ya still awake? 'S eleven, and it's gonna be a long day ahead. Sleep well, buddy."  
"Goodnight!" he called past the door to Engie, voice slightly muffled from the combination of the gas mask plastering his face and the plastic tube filling his mouth.  
Filled his mouth.

He snapped the light shut, edged into the candyfloss of a bed, took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.  
Rule one: Never open eyes while the mask is off or being taken off, even partially.  
He fumbled behind his back, sliding off and screwing shut the pink-and-white gas cylinder that provided him with energy, gasping as the sickening sweet smell and taste of almonds slipped into a tight nothingness.  
Rule two: Conserve the chemical mixture while sleeping, or it would only cause hallucinations.  
Rule three: The mask connects to the gas cylinder. Do not disconnect.

The rest was easy, but had to be done fast.

He screwed open the mouth of the gas mask, coughing as the plastic tube slid out of his mouth. Oxygen was bitter, and the transition between the airs he breathed was something he would never get used to.

He pocketed the plastic opening and embraced sleep.

* * *

_Fireworks were just like rainbows in a way; they soared through the sky, shone in a spectrum of colours before fizzling into nothing._

_On the other hand, fireworks dominate a clear night while rainbows dominate a drizzling day._

_And fireworks were destructive; their dynamic entrances real and hazardous, while rainbows were optical illusions, tricks of the light._

_Despite that, he loved them both._

_He grinned hopefully as his new invention flew into the dome of the night sky, blooming into a colourful chrysanthemum before drifting slowly back as nothing but gunpowder and dust around him._

_For a moment, there was blissful silence; he was going to succeed, he knew it; he had to._

_Then dust suddenly ignited, spiralling in a fiery blaze, forming into a recognisable figure, a burn-scarred face screwed into a dark expression. _Nonononono…

_"_Asesino,_" the flames spat, pouncing onto him before he could react, the arms strangling his neck, corroding the unmarred skin, his face burning, smothered._

_He was dying, and there was no respawn, no cupcakes, no Medic._

_The differences between fireworks and rainbows were huge… how was he ever so blind?_

_He did not like fireworks, not at all._

"MAGGOTS! UP!"

* * *

He was jolted awake by a bolt of a bellow, instinctively screwing his eyes against the temptation to be opened. It was easy to forget just how loud Soldier was when the gas was off.

He screwed on the mouth of the gas mask and activated the gas cylinder, waiting until the sickening sweetness in his mouth and nose became almost unbearable before opening his eyes and reuniting with his pink-tinged wonderland.

His team of warped looking figures were already chatting away in their helium voices at the sorry excuse of a 'dining table' as he slumped in.

When he first joint RED, the gas was absolutely intoxicating. And from his porridge-like memory, he vaguely remembered that everyone were more-or-less cherubs. He had no idea what was achieved playing with the opposing team, BLU, who were just as harmless. Or so he assumed.

A few weeks, months, maybe even years later –time did not appeal to his memory- he probably had accidently disconnected the gas mask from the cylinder and released a chunk of whatever chemicals there were into the air, because since then, everyone became full-sized like him, but twisted caricatures of what they must have been.

He must have took some time getting used to the new appearance of his chipmunk-voiced comrades, and he must have took even more time to realise that the opposition were all imps who would kill him (learnt that the hard way) if he did not play with them.

Luckily nobody ever was bored of his toys.

They were such _idiotas_ to call rainbows 'fire'.

He would never play with such a dangerous element again.

He mumbled a greeting as he found a spare seat, grabbing a platter of thankfully edible food. As soon as his teammates resumed their conversation, he closed his eyes, shut off the gas cylinder and quickly screwed open the mouth of his mask without tasting the air, savouring the flavour of sizzling Texan steak- one of Engie's best recipes.

Today's little friendship/injury contest would be due a little past 10am at 2Fort, Teufort, a capture-the-Intel competition where two opposing castles in team colours would be the fort bases of RED and BLU respectively. He would have little time to prepare himself before the whole team walks to the

As soon as he finished screwing the mask back together, he hurried away into the lobby to grab his favourite instrument, the Rainblower, brass trumpets wound past a little vial of pink liquid. He chuckled, fingering the familiar triggers and handholds as he trod off to the training room.

He was glad he could create and admire rainbows in this dreamscape.

He was glad that he had the ability to befriend even the BLUs.

Most of all, he was glad that he did not need to encounter fire everyday anymore.

* * *

**... And let the irony roll!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Merry Christmas everyone!  
Things are going to start complicating from this chapter onwards... in Pyrovision. Pronoun game's still on.**

**(Every character and 2Fort belongs to Valve.)**

* * *

Out of the BLU

Even the persistent rickety hum of wheels against a rusty track pale in comparison to the voices of REDs debating to form an effective battle plan.

Though Soldier's intelligence could be argued as slightly below average, the American did have enough experience with battle strategies to lead the discussion. Or argument. "Scout, you and Spy will both be responsible for capturing the Intel. I expect you two to be working together."  
"Oi! Why does it ha' tah be him? He'll just use me as a frickin' decoy again."  
"GET USED TO IT, PRIVATE! Sun Tzu said that decoys are one of the most useful tactics EVER! Engin-"  
"Buildin' and defendin' sentry and teleporters in the bases."

On cue, the others started chattering out their personal plans instead, Scout squeaking and complaining indignantly at each syllable.  
"Oi'm snoipin' from the battlements."  
"Camper."  
"Oi don't camp! Oi save your bloody loives!"  
"I'm takin' the bloody sewers. Scout, shut the hell up!"  
"Ah get tah choose what ah wanna do, alright?! Come on, Soldier!"  
"JUST SHUT THAT MOUTH, MAGGOT!"  
"Heavy is going with doktor."  
"Ve vill be at the frontlines vith you und Herr Pyro, ja?"  
"Typical response from Team Bromance."  
"Does leetle man want punch to face?"  
"I'm sure dat Pyro's a lady, Medic."

The stubby, eagle-winged man slumped, watermelon helmet nodding over his nose. "Pyro! Escort Engineer!"

He looked up from his little rainbow creator, dubbed 'lighter' by everyone (though the truth was that the slim little mechanic with its tiny brass gears looked nothing like one).

The whole team minus their shady Spy was grouped unevenly around Soldier and a bird's-eye-view map of 2Fort on a round table; Engie, Medic and Scout closer in, Demoman and Heavy on the other side of the table, Sniper a sizable distance away from everyone.  
Soldier was facing him with one meaty finger planted directly on the RED base.

"Then I get to come back and play?"

He noted a slightly awkward silence following his comment, broken only by Engie's quiet "Pyro says yes". This, to him, was natural, and before long he realised that his own focus was back on striking up bits of multi-coloured light.

There was a popping noise as Spy materialised nearby in a flurry of gleaming bubbles, bat wings snapping. "Gentlemen, I believe zat zis plan has serious flaws. If ze BLUs are listening in, et would not take long to form a counterplan."

He tucked away the 'lighter'. Something was wrong. Spy always materialised directly behind a teammate.

"Ha! Those maggots are in their un-American, poor-quality train far behind us!" Soldier giggled.  
"Still, I zink we should spread out our offenses and defences to gain more ground."  
Medic raised a googly eye. "Und if someone is injured, vould I have to run all the way over to them?"  
"No offense Doc, but there's also something called a health pack." It was typical of buck-toothed Scout to only keep quiet for so long.  
Spy snickered. "Very ironic comment coming from an offensive class."  
"Go tah h-"  
"Give him a break, ya ratty spook." And it was typical of Sniper to stay reserved until there was an excuse to tell Spy off.  
"Go back to sulking, bushman."

The lack of a true insulting adjective was all he needed. Just as the interior of the RED train started to become yet another verbal battle, he quickly stepped forward and clicked the 'lighter' by Spy's little pointed ear.

The results were immediate.

Spy leapt backwards with a high laugh, a fancy dress mask unnoticeable a while ago slipping to the ground. The sharply neat clothes shimmered, no longer a cheerful, tomato red.

There was a (more or less) collective gasp from every other RED before genuine yowling broke out.

"That Spah's not our Spah!"  
"Dat Spy's a traitor!"  
"SPYYY!"

Soldier leapt forward, snagging BLU Spy by the cuff, promptly dusting off the spreading patch of rainbow colours on those glum, cerulean clothes. "MAGGOT! WHERE'S OUR SPY?!"

BLU Spy gave a sweet smile that he somehow knew was actually a sneer. "Still at the station, I believe."

Scout gave a high gasp.

Before Engie could start another ramble about respawn being down while travelling, the youngster had picked up a large stick of hard candy from under a nearby seat and stuffed it into BLU Spy's mouth with a satisfying BONK, sending the laughing intruder slumping to the ground.

"Thanks, mate," Sniper whispered, throwing a doubtful look at the being-bound infiltrator before facing him. "For breaking his cover. I think that we could manage without our Spook though."

He attempted a smile under his mask, which was hard and painful enough without the bit of plastic in his mouth. "Anytime, _amigo_. I hope that you are right."

* * *

Lucky for him, Sniper and the other REDs, Spy was not left back at the train station. Demoman had found the sleek figure in the bathroom, coincidently knocked unconscious in a similar way.

As Medic worked healing magic on their sullen Frenchman, he volunteered to guard the intruder in another room while the rest of the team reset their battle plan.

They really should have been quieter though, because every word was as audible as the sound of dripping water in a silent room.

"…BLU Spy may be right," Engie's helium voice stated. "Y'all should spread out a bit more."  
"Sure, Hard Hat?" Scout's voice arrogantly challenged, followed by an eccentric scribbling noise.  
"Leetle man is right. We are weaker separated…"

While he would've liked to continue listening, the sudden steel-like coldness on his back caused him to refocus on his drab pink surroundings.

Something has punctured his suit.

He cursed inwardly; it was _common knowledge_ that Spies had the skill to wriggle out of ropes soundlessly yet without breaking a sweat.

"Lizzen, you mumbling freak. One scream or sudden movement out of you, and- well, respawn ez down while travelling, as your toymaker would say. Just allow me to sit and _overhear_."

Despite the bold words, he could feel the enemy's talons trembling. Spies were also more uneasy around him than the others, which was comforting to think about.

And what would the others reveal through dialogue anyway?

"…Yeah, alright then. I think it's fair we'll all rotate positions anyway. Even tho' you chucklenuts ain't faster than me."

His hopes for his team's subtlety sank. No, he could not let BLU Spy listen and report this information. RED would be at a disadvantage and unhappiness will take over. He needed to give them time.

He quickly reached back and grabbed the claw that was clutching the deadly yet cute ice butterfly, giving it a light tickle.

BLU Spy gave a loud giggle and twisted out of his grip, still clutching at the fluttering insect. "I warned you."

In a flurry of bubbles, the masked man vanished.

He quickly stepped back and leaned against the door, which made a pouting sound in reply. He did not know how he knew, but the deadliest strikes from a Spy were always, always backstabs.

_If only the boss allowed RED to stay with their instruments and toys aboard…_

Digging around in his blurred memory, he realised that BLU must have been more placid, unlike some of his friends whom must have managed to start a friendly fire battle which somehow involved Sascha the pea-shooting pod, Scout being hyperactive and Soldier's bacon, causing RED to end up late to a Control Point battle with –he believed- a demented train and an exhausted Medic.

He almost smacked himself in the face to remind himself that right now there were more important things to worry about than not being able to recall the full details of a memory.

And just then, the BLU was back again, quick little bubble gun in his claws.

_Unfortunately, those toys were always near silent…_

There was a fizz as the wood to his left was left with a foaming hole.

He did not have anything on him, really, but his lighter…

The second jet of bubbles just managed to miss his shifting foot.

Spy would have to shoot six times before going back to using the butterfly…

Another whizz, this time striking the edge of his suit.

That was it. Spy wasn't bad at shooting; the Frenchman was just toying with him, building up to the '_coup de gr__â__ce'_…

He ducked as a talon twitched over trigger, the next shot missing by a hair (not that he had any exposed), then pounced forwards and tackled Spy to the ground in a bear hug.

The bubble gun slid away from the opponent's floundering claw.

As Spy laughed and writhed under his firm grip like a fish out of water, he heard the conversation outside starting to be filled with hearty laughs and too-common boastings. It was drawing to an end.

He relaxed, inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The information was safe.

Upon afterward reflecting, that was his fatal mistake.

From the corner of his eye, he saw BLU Spy's dark claw reach out and give an eccentric little twitch. A jiffy later, he felt fresh air pressing to the back of his neck. He barely heard himself breathe a sound of surprise before Spy once again stumbled out of his grasp, running to pick up the nearby gun.

Heart beating fast, he scrambled up, taking a deep wheeze of a breath. He had to cause Spy to form a truce. He had to!

Enraptured by thoughts, it was until he started to make a move before he finally became aware of something… different about the sickening sweetness in the air.

The pink aura of the room flickered.

A rush of dizziness struck him back down to the ground alongside realisation with the force of a falling shot put. He put a finger to his temple, trying to deny the truth, to shake the daze off. No, he must run to that Spy before…

Dimly, he felt the impact of two projectiles vibrate against his gas mask, the sound of something cracking, a sharp, blinding pain in his eyes.

Somebody was screaming, a long, muffled scream.

Footsteps hammered outside, a sharp crash indicating the door was open.

That was when he realised that he was the one screaming.

Something dealt a blow to the back of his head.

* * *

"Pyro?"

"'e's waking… Medic, are yer sure dis works?"

"Of course, Herr Demoman… I'm a trained doctor after all… und Herr Engineer has plenty of plastic lenses to spare…"

"'Trained'? Medic?"

"C'mon, Doc, weapons have unloaded! Just use your Medigun!"

The familiar, strengthening bolt of warmth coursed through his chest into the rest of his body; he felt the searing pain in his eyes drain, but that did not replace the bitter taste in the clogged chamber of his mouth, the alarming smell of gunpowder.

He did not dare to wake- if he did, he was afraid of the sight he was going to face. Common sense told him that if he disobeyed the rules about the gas mask, Administrator probably won't be very happy with him.

But his friends were counting on him.

He slowly lifted an eyelid, and then another. The first thing he saw was a tube of sherbet pointed close-up, straight towards him, small flecks of red sugar constantly darting in the same direction; the whole sight tinted through a pink haze.

Medic's healing tube.

"Um… what happened? Did BLU Spy escape?"

A golden hand pushed Medic's signature equipment away, beckoning for his own dark-gloved hand to pull up.

He gladly accepted Engie's offer, staggered onto his feet. There were a few cheers, accompanied by Medic's confident, self-assured grin.

Everything was going to be fine.

He started to flex his neck, then froze as his view rippled and wavered.

For a moment, the scenery wasn't the usual jolly candyland he knew, but a muted, drab expanse of barren land with a scar of a railway cutting straight through the open fields.

He blinked a few times, clearing his head. No, that was him seeing things. It must have been.

Sniper edged towards him, fly-like orange eyes wide and unblinking as per usual. "We released that Spoi once we left the train, though not without a few bruises fer what he done –Administrator will know about it. No doubt he's gonna tell all those other wankas about what he heard."

Scout had rushed up to his other side while Sniper was talking, and promptly continued at the speed of a train as the Australian paused to take a breath. "Hard Hat came up with the idea tha' we _wrote_ down our opinions instead of sayin' them- when half of the others didn't even know how to read English! Boy, mah hands still hurt," the Bostonian winced before adding "an' ta say what we were not goin' to do. Anyway, 'e also fixed yo' goggl-"

Scout was cut off with squeaks of protest as Soldier pushed him away. "We're going to 2Fort. Pyro, your plan will still be to escort Engineer. Guard him for a bit. Then," the stumpy man grinned, showing all pointed teeth. "Do what you do best."

* * *

**Ah, battle scenes. I don't think I'm the best at dealing with them, but I suppose I'll have to write a lot more of them later on.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is a readying chapter, so I just simply disliked writing it. Won't be long till the action begins though.  
****Everyone still belongs to Valve... wait, I said that already.**

* * *

Cracks in the Window

**"****Mission begins in five minutes."**

He stood in front of the Resupply Room closet choosing his equipment; in the end he settled on his usual 2Fort set- Rainbower, Glowstick and Bubbleblower.

In a moment, everyone would automatically be sent to the sealed-off Respawn Rooms, but for now they all had a moment to think and ready themselves.

In the top shelf of his closet space was an ordinary purse, slightly shabbier than anything else in the room and dirtied with a few burn marks. However, it was somehow more special than anything else he possessed- even the Rainblower.

While Demoman and Soldier chatted away and Heavy polished Sascha, he quietly opened it and pulled out the lucky charm inside: a hand-sewn Balloonicorn, scuffled and sooty, but more or less recognisable.

He realised, like he did every time, that he had a history with the object that did not belong to him anymore, a carefree age of happiness long forgotten.

He pushed the Balloonicorn figurine back into the purse with a click before turning around to see the real Balloonicorn barrel into him with a happy whinny.

"I'm going with Engie. Help me look out for BLU Spy, alright? I think I have a problem with him."

The living toy gave a cheery nod before floating to its usual position behind him.

**"****Mission begins in sixty seconds."**

His insides exploded with momentary pain, stomach turning, heart hammering, waves of nausea washing over him as respawn dragged him into position along with a groaning Heavy, an already half-drunk Demoman, a still-talking Soldier and a crouching Spy.

Using the system prevented anyone from permanently becoming hurt –or dying- though the process was enough for any sane person to wish that they could actually die instead.

The system had sealed up the small number of cuts and holes in his suit along with the slashed open gas line behind his neck. _Though_, he realised, _the sweet smell had dropped significantly nonetheless._

**"****Mission begins in thirty seconds."**

Soldier was beginning to rainbow jump all over the bright space, laughter following the thudding impacts with the ceiling.

**"****Mission begins in ten seconds."**

Over the microphone, Scout was humming a tune.

He could barely hear it over his own thoughts.

**"****Five. Four. Three. Two.****_ One._****"**

There was a collective whoop as everyone rushed out of the main Resupply Room like water no longer restricted by a dam. Within moments, the Upstairs Area was empty of other REDs, the previously tension-filled silence outside replaced with tempting fizzles and whizz-bangs of firing instruments. Soon. Soon he would be able to join the fun.

He waited patiently, eyes wandering passively over the room. Sniper rushed back into the Resupply Room scattering confetti everywhere, a little cloud on his stomach.

_Hold on…_

He focused back on Sniper. Just before the latter was healed, he thought he saw an aviator-wearing, lanky yet proportional man instead clutching at an arrow buried deep in the abdomen, wound spurting blood with every step.

He trudged back into the Resupply Room and squatted onto a bench. He shouldn't be hallucinating anywhere, let alone in the midst of a fun day. He really shouldn't.

"Howdy, partner. You feelin' alright?"

He looked up from his lap to meet Engie's round worried eyes and nodded without thinking.

His friend chuckled. "That's the spirit. We're gonna head fer the BLU sewers. Grab yer neon signpost out, would ya?"

Engie was quick this round; treasure chest slung over right shoulder, teleporter already whirring quietly to itself outside.

He stood up and managed a partial smile under his gas mask, troubles already forgotten. "Just count on me and Balloonicorn."

* * *

The trio was lucky enough to encounter nobody along their route, and managed to arrive at RED's mid-sewer room with hardly any delay.

The sewers, to him, were too clean to be called sewers; the water was crystal clear and the walls were panelled with pink marble, the same sort of pink that Balloonicorn was.

While Engie had a quick rest, the toy had peeped ahead and was now floating back over to him in a frantic way only the helium-filled could manage. Balloonicorn's sign language was easy for him to understand; in this case, a combination of scurries and bobs roughly meant 'Other Scout has fallen in. He'll be heading this way.'

He ushered for Engie to stay back as he advanced forwards, Glowstick ready.

Physically, BLU Scout, other than a shirt colour difference, a duller skin tone and black-winged instead of white-winged sneakers, looked pretty much identical to lanky little RED Scout. Behaviourally, both were also loudmouths who couldn't keep quiet for five minutes.

The speedster was around the corner, footsteps splashing, chattering to no one in particular. "…Ah'll get a clear shot... Aw, stop bein' protective! Ah have a scattagun, an' ah'm not 'fraid…" The BLU's footsteps abruptly stopped, voice quickening to a panicky pace. "Ah… smell somethin' smoky… aw crap! Don' come…"

As soon as he knew Scout had put two and two together, he rushed forwards and tapped the Glowstick on the boy's shoulder just as the latter started backpedalling.

The boy gave a surprisingly bloodcurdling scream before dissipating into a flurry of sparkles.

He didn't know why Scout was unhappy or afraid of his little trick, but that one warning would be enough to inform the opposition that he was around.

He led Engie over to the mouth of the moat between the two castles, waiting for BLU Demoman's balloons that were in sight to finish popping before plunging into the water.

There was a bridge above linking RED's bit of land to BLU's, and as long as they were under it they were safe from almost anything above.

Except that he discovered he was not safe from his new internal problem.

When he dived in, the faraway sounds of popping and whizzing somehow became sounds of bullet shots and explosions, muffled laughter became agonising, hair-raising screams.

By the time he and Engie reached the BLU sewage opening, he was starting to feel less keen about participation, and he promised himself that he will sort out the problem above then refuse to participate for the rest of the day.

On the brighter side, nobody from the other team had noticed them yet. So far so good.

There wasn't much to do after Balloonicorn confirmed that the planned route was clear.

As soon as they arrived at BLU's sewer room, Engie dumped the chest –which immediately morphed into a so-called dispenser- on the floor and took out some shiny stuff from a pocket to tinker with, all the while contacting their colleagues about their progress.

There was an immediate responding call from Spy. "Good. Medic, give Soldier a final boost. Switch between 'im and your _favourite patient_ if you 'ave to."

"Heavy is not mein favourite patient-"

Soldier's voice blundered in, sparing Spy the brunt of Medic's words. "Ladies, encountered any BLUs on the way?"

"Pyro emancipated the Scout."

There was a hissing sound not unlike a snake. "Well, _wonderful_. Soldier, get up zere now!"

He was cut off from listening to Soldier's grumble of 'taking orders from a Frenchman' as Engie tapped him hard on the shoulder. "Guard and fight 'til the sentry's ready, buddy."

He nodded, stepping into the sewer junction as the familiar bell-like chimes started. There were a few explosive pops and laughter within earshot, but they weren't actual screams anymore. He hoped.

* * *

"Good job there, Hard Hat!"

By the time Scout whizzed through the newly built teleporter and started running towards the BLU base at least five footsteps a second, Engie already had a marshmallow-shooting sentry ready and upgraded.

His cue to leave and have fun.

He waved goodbye, ushering for Balloonicorn as he climbed the stairs to BLU's base and instinctively flicked the Rainblower on.

There seemed to have been a soft splish behind him, but after another round of fruitless spychecking, he decided that it was probably just him being paranoid, and left for the frontlines without another thought.

BLU Medic was glumly healing BLU Soldier as they raced across their base, but one stroke from his rainbows instantly cheered both men up to a point of fainting, leaving him to stroll casually outside.

Sniper was once again back at the battlements while Medic and Heavy were near his end of the bridge using their usual techniques. From the pops and cracks above, he could guess that Soldier was causing a riot.

However, he could tell that RED wasn't exactly in a problem-free situation either.

Medic's googly eyes fixed upon him, a grim expression morphing into one of relief. "Pyro! I think Herr Soldier vould die any moment now! Make sure Herr Heavy is still alive ven I come back!"

He nodded enthusiastically, running behind Heavy as Medic flapped under the edge of the BLU battlements and fired the Medigun continuously towards the source of the popping noises.

_It_ happened again. The pink aura flickered off, and the grassy patches became a mute ochre stretch of land with suspicious scarlet stains, the RED base just a tall wooden farmhouse, the water a murky stretch of brownness. No lollipops, no flowers, no genuine cuteness.

"Pyro alright?" Heavy sounded the same, which was a relief. He turned around expectantly, and almost tripped in surprise. Heavy was a lot less _huge_ to say the least, Medic was a white-coated man with glasses and a strange backpack. Not to mention the violent-looking explosions coming from where the BLU battlements should be.

As the explosions abruptly ended and some other BLUs managed to advance to the frontlines, his wonderland came back, uncertain and seeming more artificial, but in one piece nevertheless.

He wished that he could spill out his problems to Heavy, but just to make things easier, he nodded, tightened his lips and tried to make the best of his situation.


	4. Chapter 4

I would like to take a moment to gratefully thank all those who followed, favourited (is that a word?) and reviewed. To me, it's a personal record-breaking achievement. And I'd like to say sorry about this awful chapter for being filled with unnecessary details. It's alright, the complication's coming.

* * *

Awakening

**"****We have taken the enemy intelligence!"**

**"****Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!"**

The juxtaposing calls seemed to exist for the sole purpose of mocking everyone out in the heat-BLUs suddenly retreated from the battlements or moved into more defensive positions around their base while Spy and Medic whisper-screamed into the intercom.

"Go straight into part zwei of zhat plan! Demo! Make sure zhat you have secured every exit vith bombs!"

"Pyro, 'eavy, Soldier, look for and take down ze carrier if 'e escapes. Protect Scout."

"Very flatterin', but we all know this. Who made you guys the leaders anyway?" Scout remarked.

Hearing enough, he hoisted up his Bubbleblower, beckoned for Balloonicorn, then froze as he realised that, for one, there was no responding whinny, and for two, his instrument on hand wasn't the Bubbleblower; instead it was a red, bell-shaped signal gun.

Hearing a familiar stream of laughter, he forced himself to look up from the strange gun in his hand. Scout had managed to somehow tear through the BLU battlements and was now swooping over to the bridge rooftop with the Intelligence parcel, grinning, shoe wings fully extended. "Look at ya chuck-"

From the corner of his eye, something stirred in the same battlements Scout just escaped from. "WATCH OUT!"

"What was tha-" Helplessly, he watched as a large projectile struck the boy and exploded into a thousand bloodied pieces, the Intel tumbling over the roof and into the moat.

**"We have dropped the enemy intelligence,"** the Administrator noted dryly.

He recoiled in sheer horror, numbly looking over the side of the bridge as Heavy, Medic and Soldier rushed back over to RED's side of land. Sure, there was respawn, but how could the Administrator not notice the seriousness of what actually just happened? How could the BLUs do something so violent and grotesque in this wonderland like _blowing up a boy_? He was going to have to give the latter some rainbows later.

On the other hand, even though he was a bad runner and there was no Balloonicorn to guide him, he had to make sure that Scout wouldn't have much to do upon respawning.

For the second time that day, he dropped under the bridge, though this time not with stealth but in a huge splash, ignoring the voices that shouted after him. Spotting a flash of navy jumping in after him, he quickly felt for the Intel, backed into RED's sewer and ran for it.

* * *

He skidded by the mid-sewer room, slammed into the defining rails and stumbled towards the entrance to the RED base. _Just a little more to go…_

There was a ringing thud as the BLU behind him also slammed straight into the rails. Hopefully that pursuer would be knocked out… nope, scratch that.

There was a vibrating hum as he approached the stairs, followed by an unconcerned **"The enemy has dropped our intelligence."** Good for the team.

But as he scrambled up the staircase, his foot skidded over something. Before he could stretch out a hand to stop himself, he felt a stair clang thickly against his cheekbone. It was by sheer luck that he managed to roll onto his back while half-stunned before searing heat blasted him in the stomach.

The attacker paused for a second, head cocked, as he tried to struggle painfully to his feet.

He did not need to look at the wicked, mangled instrument with a flicker of deceiving rainbow light pointed straight at him, did not need to see the harsh cruelty reflecting off the twin blank lenses of the otherwise practically identical black gas mask to realise that it was his literal shadow, the deceiving monster that would undo all his work.

For the better or worse, both of them knew that he wouldn't back from a head-on challenge, even if he was hopelessly outmatched, even if he had something as important as an Intel to carry.

As he switched for the Rainblower, another continuous blast of blackness seared through his chest, forcing him to crumble backwards onto the stairs.

The Backburner was strong, but his suit was heatproof, and therefore would only be strong enough to kill him by the time Scout comes if it scorched his back. On the other hand, continuous exposure would mean certain doom anyway.

He managed to activate an airblast from the Rainblower that propelled the opponent into the water, then instinctively charged forwards with rainbows on at full blast. Meeting with the same force, he gritted his teeth and held his ground.

_He was holding a gleaming, sooty weapon, erupting orange flames countering the enemy's bright yellow flames._

No, he was not going to fall for the hallucinations, not now. Especially if it concerned fire.

_He stepped forwards into putrid water that shone with an oily sheen. The grey sewer walls were patched with algae that looked like green boils._

His strength was already fading, his body consumed by heat. Hopefully, Scout or some other RED would already be on the way, and his counterpart would be too weak to fight back.

_The enemy suddenly exploded into blood-spattering pieces, a growling voice from further inside the sewer following the chaotic blast of noise._

"MOVE, PRIVATE!" Soldier roared in a workday wake-up voice.

Hardly believing his luck, he gave a quick, stiff thumbs-up and hurried towards RED's Intelligence Room, trying to speed up his forgetting process on the sickening images that haunted his vision just a while ago.

Then stopped when he saw Demoman's limp yet clean body lying awkwardly in the 'courtyard'.

Respawn takes a little time to process, so the proclaimed cyclops must have been killed very recently.

The RED Intel was lying nearby, slightly diamond-dusted from an activated sticky trap.

Something was up. He struggled to put the pieces together. Something about deception. Something about…

"Spy?"

"Zat is right, fool." A sharp, white-hot pain forced its way into the crook of his neck; the floor once again impacted with his head.

Spy's voice was fading, the whole world was fading, yet the accented sentence that came next unmistakably sounded crueller, deeper.

"Zis is for exposing moi."

* * *

**"We have secured the enemy intelligence."**

He was greeted with the dreamy colour of Respawn's walls, muffled chatter over the intercom about the plan laced with Scout's bragging, and Balloonicorn's anxious whinnies.

He stroked the toy absentmindedly, suddenly becoming overly cheerful.

There were now just his usual tactics to perform, and did he take delight in that. Bounding from the battlements with a gleeful whoop, he charged straight into the midst of the few BLUs, giving them the delight of their life.

There was no restrictions, no bindings to his giving-

_BLUs screamed as flames smothered their clothes, trying in vain to stay calm and make sure that the available extinguishers would be directed towards them._

Medic had apparently lost Heavy, because next moment the throbbing, powerful craze of an Ubercharge overwhelmed him, and he finished what he started, a ring of rainbows causing the opponents left to faint with delight-

_The opponents tried to utter a final breath as their beings crumbled into ashes, still glimmering with dying embers that twinkled like distant stars._

_The Uber wore off._

_He was-_

He was-

For the first time in an eternity, Pyro lowered the so-called 'Rainblower' that he treasured and loved for so long and glanced around at the dusty surroundings of New Mexico, his mind as clear as the relentless weather, more conscious than it had been for months.

"How… did this happen?"

* * *

And the pronoun game is over! Yay!


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter took too long... I kept becoming unsatisfied with what's there, and a lot of unnecessary details ended up being skipped. Anyway, school's starting, so expect updates to take longer. And I promise I'll cut down the number of chapters that end with fainting/sleeping- it's becoming cliche.  
Just asking, in the next chapter, would you prefer speech in a different language with English footnotes or only italicized English to show thi?**

* * *

Doctor's Advice

The rest of the playtime, or rather, battle, was a living nightmare for Pyro. In fact, if the day's objective was about control points, RED would already be in a losing position. When did he sign up to be in this _team_ anyway? What were the missions even for?

The world suddenly became a wilder, more fearful place. He was surrounded by people he no longer knew, no longer had the innocence of children.

No longer his friends.

After being shot in the head, he had rushed many times back to the frontlines to try and somehow return to his paradise, only to pause, horribly entranced at the scene unfolding before him before being thwarted. In the final twenty-or-so minutes, he was bashed, blasted, blown up, stabbed, shot and slashed to death, spending more time respawning than staying alive.

In the end, he simply gave up and sat alone in the tertiary Resupply Room, grasping at his own head, too stunned to feel anything, not being able to make a move with the flamethrower that looked like someone had bothered to make by hand but was rushed and tossed aside into a pile of coals immediately afterwards.

Fire. For how long had he been a fire-playing zombie? He definitely sworn never to even light a match again, not to mention re-enacting-

**"Mission ends in ten seconds."**

"Hear that? Get ready ta praise me!"

He couldn't even tell who was who anymore. But why would they care?

**"Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Ov-"**

"Silly Scout. _You_ should be praising _me_ for firing zis bullet."

**"VICTORY!"**

There was a tremendous whoop over the intercom, followed by shouts of congratulations.

Pyro hastily switched the excess noise off. Victory didn't matter.

There was a squeak as the Resupply Room door automatically rolled open, incoming footsteps sounding to his left. He glanced past rubber fingers, curious and slightly frightened as the man he had seen before in the white lab coat stared back with an air of disdain, features less exaggerated now but still drastically recognisable.

Medic.

"Zhere you are, Herr Pyro. I'm wasting mein kill time to tell you zhat ve von't be joining zhe others for lunchtime. Ve are staying here."

* * *

After a few minutes of bench-dragging and equipment-finding from the Resupply Closet, Medic managed to turn the Resupply Room into a passable emergency hospital room. Pyro, who watched the whole process in curious amazement, was urged onto the sorry excuse of a bed as the doctor took off his gloves and drew out a filled syringe with an artist's daintiness. "Tell me zhe problem, Herr Pyro."

Pyro stared tentatively at the needle, carefully picking his words. The man who knew almost all the team's physical secrets never seemed more untrusting. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Speak clearly! I'm not Herr Engineer, so don't expect me to know every vord you're saying vith zhat mask on. In fact, why don't you take it off?"

"NO!" This was it. He would not take any more orders from this crazed-

"Calm down, Herr Pyro. You are right. I haff no right to ask zhat. I vill try und decipher your vords."

But what else could he do? What if Medic really had the answer? The doctor seemed more than a little crazy, but was the person out in the field risking his life for the sake of others after all.

Pyro reluctantly laid back down, tensing as sudden coolness pressed against his arm.

Medic's purposeful fingers dance over still slightly browned skin. "You feel very tense, ja? Everyvone knows something is wrong with you today- since zhat BLU Spy stabbed you in zhe neck and tried to shoot your face. Do you feel queer? Did zhe Spy stick something into you? Are you having ein mental breakdown?"

Pyro was already regretting his decision about giving Medic a chance. With each question, the doctor's eyes gained an extra glimmer of madness, giving the impression that any response would probably end in the use of a syringe. On the other hand, he found it rather touching that one teammate actually cared for him. And who knows? If someone cares, somebody else probably will too.

He was saved by a tinny voice laced in static from one of the nearby gloves; the doctor immediately dropped the intimidation and picked up an icy demeanour to answer the intercom call. "Don't interrupt me again, Herr Engineer. I'm just helping Herr Pyro. I may join for lunch later."

More mutters from the other end of the line.

"Pyro can't battle. I vant to fix zhis problem before _she_ does something bad to him."

The mutters from the intercom became slightly louder, so out of curiosity, Pyro flicked his own back on, not prepared to face the deafening, angry yell. "-ell are ya anyway, Doc?!"

"Woah! Engie, Engie, calm the f-"

"How can ya expect me to keep CALM, Scout?!"

Pyro switched the intercom off again, ears still ringing with static. He knew for a fact that Engineer was the calmest guy in the world and needed a good reason to be angry. Combine that with an unfamiliar voice- he almost swore that he was actually in an alternate universe.

Medic sighed, added a curt "Please don't distract me" and threw the glove to the side before turning back towards Pyro, all insanity replaced with genuine concern. "Herr Pyro, you heard zhat, right? Zhe others are vorried about you. Now please tell me vhat's wrong."

_Other teammates are worried. They care. They care and they want a reply._ Pyro opened his mouth to answer, but, to his alarm, mentally smacked into a blank wall. How did that happen? He knew he lost a paradise and was involuntarily working with hired killers, but somehow, that was it. What did BLU Spy do? What condition _was_ he in?

A few faint impressions trickled through- a fantastical land, candy, pink, rainbows.

Balloonicorn.

Something in his mind stirred. The closets in the Resupply Rooms were interconnected with a similar technology to respawn, so key items would always be there. Including something special to him…

Pyro literally jumped off the bench-bed, Medic's gasp a mere background noise as he snatched his purse out. Somehow, the texture, pattern and shape of the object never changed; in fact, it seemed even brighter in this now muted world.

He slowly unzipped the purse, dimly aware of Medic looking over his shoulder, hoping that the charm was there, that it would trigger _something_.

Nothing happened.

Pyro huffed disappointedly. Well, at least the little charm was safe.

"What is zhat?"

* * *

Pyro did not exactly know how it happened, but something had clicked. Before long, he had automatically poured out almost all the major details of his unexpected dimensional transfer for the doctor to interpret, not understanding half of the words himself.

Medic drank every word, stroking his cowlick thoughtfully before throwing away his syringe. "Ja, amnesia can be a side effect of certain hallucinogens… vone zhat makes a frau's heaven, zhough… zhis is a very interesting case. I vill haff to check your gear vith Herr Engineer later." The maniacal smile suddenly reappeared, sinister as ever. "Let me give you something for now so you can slowly remember. Don't fight it, or you vill feel vorse. Expect to be back on zhe train vhen you vake."

Pyro watched, paralysed with horrid fascination as the doctor grabbed bottles of medicine from the cupboards, mixed up the contents and filled an empty syringe with whatever was inside. He flinched as a cotton ball smelling of beer was rubbed over a section of his arm, gritted his teeth as a crystal sharp pain pierced his rather undamaged skin.

The Resupply Room door burst open with an abrupt crash, revealing a stout man who brushed away the sweat under his yellow helmet, a face of concern making up for his unreadable goggled eyes.

"What the hell are you doing, Doc?!"

"Oh, just a little experiment, Herr Engineer."  
"Pyro? Pyro?! Don't… rift off! Can y… ear m… Can…"


	6. Chapter 6

**School tests. School tests everywhere. Anyway, have another filler...ish chapter. The character interactions took me quite a while, and I had those Spy and Sniper puns in mind for a long time, so I hope you enjoy them. Anyway, stay tuned in; more interesting backstory points will be here soon.**  
**Thank you for helping me reach the 1000+ views milestone. I don't think I ever had so many :). Reviews are appreciated as always.**

* * *

Out of the Frying Pan

_The sky was so incredibly blue after a downpour of rain; it stretched on for miles, clotted here and there with silver clouds. The sun's warm fingers tenderly stroked the timid green fields that stretched for some hectares, entered through the windows of the house that stood in the midst. A young boy with dark, curly hair sat watching the nature with round eyes, ignoring his mother's relieved talk about the last shadows from World War Two being finally lifted._

_The boy's mouth split into a wide grin when he spotted a lick of multicolour within an especially dark cloud, the opal in the rock. "¡Mirar, un iris!"_

_"Un arco iris, mi amor," a lady incredibly similar to the boy in stature replied, not looking up from her stitching._

_"¿Cómo se foran un arco iris?"_

_There was a soft chuckle. "Ciencia. Ciencia y magia."_

_For a few minutes, everything was quiet save for the faint chirping of birds and the needle's faint puncturing._

_Click!_

_An object was pressed into the boy's hands, followed by a gentle murmur. "Feliz cumpleaños, Ciro."_

_The boy, laughing and thanking, clicked open the pink, floral-patterned purse._

* * *

"… Sample of gas contains less zhan vierzig percent oxygen. Zhe other substances include modified LSD, benzaldehyde und very small traces of _australium_."

Pyro noticed a few differences upon waking. For one, he was facing the blinding white light of a surgical lamp. If this meant anything, he definitely was out of the battle zone now. There were other oddities too: his head was throbbing, something felt wrong in his mouth, and hasty panic was rising within him. He tried to tend to this unreasonable yet somewhat familiar sensation, all the while listening to the German-accented explanation about him.

"… Zherefore, I vould diagnose Pyro vith some variation of HPPD in zhe least, und zh-"

"Specify that would ya, Doc?"

"Hallucinogen perzisting perception disorder."

"Curable? In a week or less?"

"Mein gott! I am not into psychology like zhat verdammen BLU Medic! I'm a physician! Of course it's curable, just give me time!"

"Good to know… ah, Doc, the monitoring device is active."

There was an awkward pause before the lamp switched off.

Pyro blinked the spots out of his eyes, huffed, and slowly sat up from a real hospital bed. He was in a lightly coloured room, an orderly mess of complicated machinery, cooing white birds, and trays full of wicked steel utensils and bottles of chemicals. Around his bed, tensely staring, were the two people he had last seen before waking up to these new surroundings.

"Engie? Medic?" An alien voice wheezed, raw and choked, as if someone hadn't talked properly for years. He slapped a hand over the cover of his gas mask as realisation struck him hard over the head again. It couldn't be.

The coat wearing man, Medic (he should start taking a note of whom was whom) gave a stiff laugh. "See, Herr Engineer? Ve succeeded! Herr Pyro's alright! Nothing much to worry about!"

"You work miracles, Doc. Now let me deal with mah friend." Engie held out his yellow –no, gloved- hand. "Buddy, we disconnected your gear; turns out it was pumpin' drugs into ya. I replaced that tongue-tier connected to that mask openin' with a proper filter, so now all's well. Heard ya got partial long-term memory loss; c'mon, I'll help ya by reintroducing ya to the team. We have another long day ahead."

Pyro took a few minutes to absorb the overwhelming information before cautiously taking Engie's hand. There was almost too much to get used to; the situation, the landscape, the team, his own, coarse voice. "You took off my stuff? S-something's 'bit private…"

Engie gave a grim chuckle. "Doc made sure that I didn't actually take your mask off. Come on now."

Medic tightened his lips. "Herr Pyro, I'll vork on this case. Now hurry out!"

Pyro, leaning on Engie, made his way towards the exit. Somehow, he had the urge to swear that Medic had something else on mind.

* * *

Immediately upon leaving the infirmary, Pyro's thudded straight into a tall, dense, heaving wall.

Another second later, he was showered in frantic questions. "Hard Hat? Please tell me everythin' went alright and you're bringing Pyro out 'cause 'e's feelin' normal… What's Doc's label?" The voice came from a skinny boy in his late teens standing behind, light brown hair sticking up in tufts on the back of his head.

"I have responsibility to know status of whole team, so I am here too," the wall –no, a bulky, bald man- rumbled, rolling his R's slightly in a frustratingly familiar way.

Engie gave a hearty chuckle. "Don't worry too much, both of ya. Pyro's feelin' alright. Now, here's an easy question: Do ya know these guys, buddy?"

"Are you kiddin'?! Pyro's the freak here, 'e doesn't know much outside battle-"

"One more word, boy, and I'm not makin' dinner for ya."

Pyro was impervious to the offending sentence. Now that he thought about it, there was only one specific fast and obnoxious boy he vaguely knew anyway. And there was only one huge man who was good with a peashooting-pod yet still gave the best group hugs. Despite everything, they were still painstakingly easy to recognise. But who exactly were they? Who…?

"Scouty?" he whispered. "Um… Heavy bear?"

Heavy roared with laughter, giving Pyro a pat on the shoulder that almost dislocated his arm. Scout, on the other hand, leapt backwards in alarm, arms flailing. "WOAH! Dat's just not right, Hard Hat! Pyro did not just talk; ah still wanna call 'er Mumbles behind 'er back-"

The speedster yelped as he was knocked away by a large fist. "Is Pyro, leetle man. Is all that matters."

For once, Pyro silently, delightfully agreed. He got four correct- only a few more to go.

"Touching, touching. Now, I haff work to do, so why don't you all leef for zhe base? Schnell!"

The four glanced guiltily at the infirmary doorway before leaving the doctor's sight.

* * *

The 'Meet the Team' session had gone well at first, but steeply went downhill.

On the way to the 'living room', Scout gibbered over how the colossal yet hidden building was sponsored by some allying bread company, which meant no RED will ever starve.

The introduction soon turned into a conversation, with both Engie and Heavy casually joking over the status of BLU's base. By the time they reached 'the living room', as everyone apparently called, Pyro was almost in high spirits.

"Hey, y'all, Pyro's fixed!"

The room, like the rest of the building, was large with a red floor and a bit shabby, but nevertheless presentable. A few pieces of furniture- a pool table, cabinets,

The three men on a large couch in front of a chunk of a blaring television turned around to face them immediately, expressions varying from confused to distasteful.

"Pyro had problems?" The helmeted man without eyes blurted in a rough voice.

Scout snorted. "Well, yeah. Y'know how ya thought 'er to be a robot or something? Well-"

"I KNEW IT!" The eyeless man screamed, grappling for one of the yellow containers on his coat. "PYRO'S A ROBOT! IT'S HERE TO MURDER US-"

Pyro had flinched at the noise, a yell of _'UP, PRIVATE!'_ suddenly airing through his mind. "Wait, you're Soldier! That's your wake-up voice- you use it to wake me-"

The three couch potatoes glanced up in surprise at him, Soldier stopping his rant in mid-sentence.

"Pyro is comrade," Heavy explained. "He is human. No need to worry."

"Well I guess 'm real bloody drunk today… off to me room lads…" The dark-skinned man with the beanie and eyepatch slurred, swaying to his feet. The room fell into an uncomfortable moment of quietness save for the still-rambling television as everyone watched him stumble away.

"Ah bet Demo's gonna crash halfway down the stairs," Scout murmured after a few moments, cuing the conversation back into motion.

"Private! Are you American?"

Engie tsked. "Don't ask that yet, Soldier. We're testin' his shorter-term memory; Doc said that further strain could result in brain damage."

"I NEED TO KNOW-"

"Easier questions first. Who just left this room?"

Pyro easily recognised Demo the Cyclops.

"And Mister Quiet over here?"

He bewilderedly stared, words disintegrating into ums, at the sulking, stringy man that looked kind of like Medic yet did not have any related gear or eyewear.

"Here's two hints for you, mate," the stranger grumbled in yet another type of accent. "Oi'm a professional at my job. Spook stole my hat and shades."

The hints may have helped a little, but not too much. As Pyro struggled to list the team members who wore headwear on all occasions, a faint swooshing noise disrupted his concentration. The room suddenly seemed tenser, more hostile.

"Eediot." Pyro did not need to think too hard to know the voice was Spy's; only one specific snobby ally made everyone anxious like that.

The stranger whose hat was stolen growled at the sight of the new arrival. "Gimme back my stuff."

Spy ignored the warning, casually stepping into Pyro's visual range, hairless red head shining like velvet. "Now, Pyro, zis 'ere is Sniper. You might know 'im from 'is counterpart shooting your 'ead."

Pyro nodded, embarrassed. He had actually seen Sniper looking like this before somewhere, but the man looked incredibly dissimilar without his trademark wide orange eyes- no, sunglasses.

"One thing you should know, mon ami…" Spy's fingers twitched, revealing the said pair of orange-tinted aviators. "Sniper 'ere-" He ignored the subject's complaints, smoothly pushing the shades onto his own nose. "-Is not a _'appy camper_."

Pyro, confused, watched Scout, Heavy, Soldier and even Engie burst into laughter. Sniper, on the other hand, frowned and snatched his shades back. "Well, oi guess ya haven't seen ya _yellow streak_ when both us Snoipahs use jahs."

The response was another outburst of laughter, minus Spy's contribution. The two rivals glared daggers at each other. The room, it seemed, was going to host yet another ridiculous conflict.

"Let's settle zis with a pun duel."

"Why the bloody hell not?!"

"Calm down, y'all." Engie interrupted the duo, to the dismay of Soldier, reminding them of their real gathering purpose. "We still have a lot tah help our buddy here catch on."

Spy and Sniper shot apologetic looks before turning their stares of hatred back onto each other.

Scout snorted. "So far, we are just missin' a frickin' backstory. And dat's about it. Who cares about backstories? Ah bet he remembers all those times ah saved 'is ass from bein' kicked. By the way, anyone know what kinda battle we're havin' tomorrow?"

"Well said, Private. Read tomorrow's schedule yourself."

"I don't care 'bout backstories, Scout. I care about what he knows ever since he joined. Prove that Pyro remembers what you did."

Scout confidently puffed up his chest. "Just look a' what I can do, Engie. Hey Mumbles- Pyro- y'know Dustbowl Arenas? There was dis time last month where BLU Demo pounced on ya and everythin' with his sword; ah beat him up with m' Atomiser before he gotcha."

Right. Killing. The topic would have been brought up sooner or later. "REDs and BLUs actually kill each other?"

If there were people unfocused on the conversation before, now there were none.

"We die on a daily basis," Soldier confirmed proudly. "What's your problem, Private?"

"So we're all hired to _murder_? Including me?"

"Da. Whole team is hired to kill BLU." Heavy answered. "Don't worry. You are credit to team."

Being confirmed, assured even, that he was a killer was already enough to make Pyro sick with dread, but he just had to know one more thing. A thing that he reflected on later and partially regretted asking, but again, there would not have been any other progress in knowing the other mercenaries better. "A-and I fight with…?"

"Fire." Sniper grimaced. "Lots and lots of fire. What did you think your alias was, you Pyromaniac?"

There was a muffled, agonising crash as something, probably Demoman, predictably tripped over the stairs. But it did not matter now.

_The word had broken the last straw._

* * *

**For those of you who don't read/study Spanish, the translation goes as following:**

**_Look, a 'bow!_**

**_A rainbow, my dear._**

**_How are rainbows formed?_**

**_Science. Science and magic._**

**_Happy birthday, Ciro._**


End file.
